The Dead of Night

With its silvery veil the moon's pallid sheen Spectrally cloaks and invests all the homes Transformed into midnight mausoleums While those who sleep within can never be seen As cold as the tomb As miserable as a morgue As silent as the grave As the sheathing of a sword. The dark shades of night unfold Where they lie deep shrouded in their beds Dreams dance lively in their heads While they look like bodies cold. Closed to all are the eyes of their resting places Blinded to outside view Wrapped in night's dark blue But within their still frames R.E.M races Outside in the gloom wreathed like hearses Stand their silent polished cars in rows In preparation for sadder blows When funereal will be the verses.